


The Waiting Game

by La_Vie_en_Whump



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Dean Winchester, Blood, Hunt Gone Wrong, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Restraints, Telekinesis, Whump, set in early seasons, wounded wrists from zip ties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26573893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Vie_en_Whump/pseuds/La_Vie_en_Whump
Summary: Sam and Dean wake up restrained in the witch's kitchen. How long until she returns? More importantly, what will happen when she does?
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	The Waiting Game

Zip-tied to a kitchen chair, Dean groaned as he regained consciousness. It was too goddamn bright in the witch’s house, and the obnoxious lighting made his tired vision shudder at the edges.

Dean was sore. Beaten. Bloody. Tired. Always tired. But ultimately, in this moment he was patient. It wasn’t a trait many people associated with Winchesters, but the virtue held strong in his blood. He knew the witch would return for them eventually, and bound or not Dean was confident they could take her down.

He watched as his brother awoke, groggy. Continued to watch as Sam began to tug anxiously at his wrist-ties, as if by some law of transference his hands would faze through the offending plastic. They didn’t. Time and struggle dug the restraints deep into his wrists until the younger Winchester puffed out a defeated sigh. Dean didn’t return it.

“You’re awful quiet.” Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother. “Any genius ideas?”

“Sammy, if I had a nickel for every genius idea I’ve ever had-"

“You be broke?” The joke earned a small chuckle.

“I’d be rolling in it,  _ bitch _ .” Dean grinned from the side of his mouth. Humour helped. 

“Rolling aside, we gotta get out of here.”

“You see a car out there, Sammy?” Dean nodded his head towards the living room window.

Sam stretched his neck awkwardly to get a good look.

“...No.” 

“Exactly. We’ve got time, brother-mine.” Dean readjusted what posture he could in the rickety, wooden chair so that his arms had more room to move. “Time enough to burn these ties off.”

Sam quirked his head in interest as Dean began dragging the zip ties, one on each wrist, up and down the wooden beams of the chair. The movement was awkward, and painful, biting welts into his skin. After a few moments, the friction sawed away at the plastic and Dean was half free. He wiped at the blood dripping down his brow, courtesy of the impact that had knocked him out earlier. 

Sam copied his brother’s technique and began burning away the ties. He froze when the familiar jingle of keys in the door broke their busy silence.

“Dude!” Dean’s whisper bordered on a yell. “A little warning would be nice!”

“Dean, there’s no car.” Sam eyebrows furrowed. “This might be somebody else?”

“With our luck? Fat chance.”

Dean wrestled furiously with the restraints on his legs, desperately trying to free himself before the stranger made it into the house. Thankfully the ties gave way, and he leapt up from the chair as quietly as possible. Sam, not as quick to free the leg bindings, did his best to tuck in Dean’s chair against the table normally, as if the witch had only captured a single person. 

The older Winchester managed to slip out of sight just as a woman waltzed into the kitchen. 

This was not the witch that had gotten the slip on them earlier. This woman had bouncy hair and round face, olive skin and full hips. She wore a heavy scarf and patterned leggings.

Dean tried to place her, but came up with nothing. He had no idea who she was. Ducking back behind the wall, he watched as she approached his brother.

“Well, well.” She chided, and Sam’s stomach dropped. “You boys have been busy.”

“Who are you?” Sam frowned, holding his wrists flat against the sides of the chair so as to appear fully restrained.

“What, you don’t recognize me?” The woman pouted, mock-upset. “Maybe this will help you out.”

At that, her eyes glowed purple.

Sam swallowed slowly, his eyes wide and shaky. The witch had somehow taken another body, like a demon.

“Now then, where’s your brother crawled off to, hmm?” 

The younger Winchester bit his lip. Gave her his signature bitch face. 

“Not feeling helpful today, are we, Sam? Pity.” She drew a blade from her pocket, turning to face the entrance to the living room. “I’m gonna make this real easy for you, Dean.”

She held the knife flush against Sam’s neck, flirting with his pulse. 

“Walk your ass back into this kitchen, unarmed, or I’ll give Sam a beautiful, red necklace-"

She didn’t get to finish the threat. Sam pulled his freed arms up and knocked the blade from the witch’s hand. Taking the distraction, Dean rocketed back into the room, a gun in hand.

The witch snarled and flung Dean backwards into the wall using some form of telekinesis. He gasped as her intangible grip crackled against his ribs and he struggled to drag in a breath. He watched as Sam finally freed himself of the bindings and snuck up behind the witch. Dean kept a straight face, not wanting to alert the woman to his brother’s presence.

So much for that idea.

The instance Sam was within witch-stabbing distance, the sorceress turned and flung the taller man to the opposite side of the room. Dean watched his brother slam against the china cabinet, shattering its contents, the impact presumably knocking him unconscious.

Sam’s head lolled downward on his chest, limp like a ragdoll.

“Crap.” Dean sighed, as the magic gripped him tighter. An invisible hand wrapped itself around his neck, tight and unrelenting. Blood spilled from his lips, ran from his nose. His throat ached.

The witch drew nearer, smiling.

“I’m gonna like walking around in your skin.” She crowed, stepping closer. “Think of all the tail I’m gonna catch with a mug like that, hmm?”

“W-Why did you take a new body?” Dean managed to croak out, still struggling against the vice-like grip on his limbs. “W-Wasn’t your other one good enough?” 

“Oh, Dean...” The witch shook her head. “I haven’t had a real body in centuries.”

Damn. Well, it made sense at least. Explained why people had been going off the radar for the past few months in Hazelfield. Why the victims were reported as acting strangely before their deaths.

It still left a question, though.

“So, why’ve you been hopping around so much...um..” Dean started, then trailed off as he realized they hadn’t asked the witch’s name.

“It’s Feara.” The woman stated, unamused. 

“Ah, Feara, wow, nice ugh...nice name.” Dean stammered, trying to buy himself time. “So, Feara, why can’t you just settle down with a meat suit and call it a day? Why ruin so many lives?”

“If you think I’m gonna spill trade secrets when I’ve got you, quite literally, up against a wall, you must be mad.” 

“Oh no, not mad…” Dean shook his head, his eyes meeting Feara’s defiantly. “Just patient.”

Sam, having risen from the crumbled remains of the cabinet, drove a blade into the witch’s back with practiced strength.

The crushing weight of Feara’s psychic grip vanished in an instant and the sudden absence of it left Dean’s head spinning. His vision swam as Sam lifted him from the floor, so he leaned into his brother's grip.

“You good?” Sam's eyes were unfocused, too.

Dean spat blood to the floor.

“I’ll live, let’s motor.”


End file.
